


Drinking by a Blockbuster

by BuzzCat



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 15:10:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15584676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuzzCat/pseuds/BuzzCat
Summary: Ford rubbed at his eyes again. It couldn’t be. It had to be some sort of alcohol-fueled hallucination, brought on by the twelve beers he’d had that evening. There was no way—it had to be physically impossible—that he was seeing the Stanley Mobile parked outside the local Blockbuster.lizardwizard prompted: "pre canon Stanley angst with a happy ending". I followed this prompt about 30%.





	Drinking by a Blockbuster

Ford rubbed at his eyes again.

It couldn’t be. It had to be some sort of alcohol-fueled hallucination, brought on by the twelve beers he’d had that evening.

There was no way—it had to be physically impossible—that he was seeing the Stanley Mobile parked outside the local Blockbuster.

He was supposed to meet up with Fiddleford to go drape the Tau Kappa Epsilon house in toilet paper, but all thoughts of that flew out of his mind when he saw what could only be his brother walk out of the Blockbuster, locking the door behind him before trudging across the parking lot and getting into the Stanley Mobile.

The engine started and suddenly Ford was running across the street, entirely heedless of traffic on the road. His brother was here and if he didn’t stop him before he drove away, Ford would never see him again.

Just as the car’s lights lit up, Ford ran directly into the beam of the Stanley Mobile’s headlights. Ford was blinded by the light. Heh. _Blinded by the light. Revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night._ Ford grinned, momentarily distracted by the song lyrics as the Stanley Mobile was thrown into park and Stan practically flew out of the driver’s door, gesturing wildly at Ford,

“Poindexter, don’t you know better than to run in front of a moving car?!”

Ford ignored his brother’s reprimands, instead babbling excited, “Stan! Stan, I haven’t seen you in forever! Stan did you know I’m in college now? I can drink and everything!” A thought occurred to Ford and he practically flew with excitement, “You’re my twin brother! We can BOTH drink! Stan, let’s go drink together! We can get—”

“Hold up Ford,” Stan said, his arm shooting out to go around Ford’s back and it was only then that Ford realized he’d been about to stumble backwards. “I think you’ve had enough to drink already.”

“Pish posh applesauce,” Ford said, waving his hands wildly as if he could physically wave away Stan’s words. Stan had to lean back to avoid getting smacked in the face. Ford continued, entirely unaware of his actions, “I haven’t had a breakthrough yet, so clearly I need more to drink! And I mean Fiddleford always—HOLY MOSES YOU HAVEN’T MET FIDDLEFORD!” Ford grabbed Stan’s arm and started trying to drag him across the parking lot. Stan remained stationary, which resulted in Ford leaned back at a ridiculous angle, trying to drag his brother around. Stan smiled, despite himself. Ford, however, was pouting,

“Stannnn, you have to meet Fiddleford. He’s my college roommate and he’s just so nice and cool. He plays this banjo music all the time which I act like gets on my nerves but I actually kind of like it but shhhhhh don’t tell him,” Stan had never had a chance to see what his brother looked like drunk out of his mind, but he was beginning to get the picture.

“Ford, I think you should probably have some water before we try to go much further. Alcohol kills your brain cells or something and we can’t have you frying a brain like that on 99-cent tequila.”

“Brain cells are unnecessary! I have my intellect! I have Tesla and Sagan and I have…I have…” Ford paused and looked Stan dead in the eye, “I have to throw up.”

Stan managed to jump back just in time before Ford leaned over and threw up, hands on his knees and retching painfully. Stan winced in sympathy and put a hand on Ford’s back.

“Yep, alcohol’ll do that to you.” When Ford finally seemed to get it all out of his stomach, Stan helped him straighten up, “C’mon buddy, let’s get you home. Do you live far?”

“But you haven’t met Fiddleford yet,” Ford whined as he turned to face Stan. Stan nearly gagged at the smell of his brother’s breath but managed to fight it back.

“No I haven’t, but if he’s your roommate, he’ll probably go back to your dorm anyway, and then I can meet him there. We just have to get you there too.”

“Okay, that makes sense,” Ford said after thinking a moment. Stan rolled his eyes. College student or high school dropout, alcohol tended to put people on the same level of forward thinking.

The walk to Ford’s apartment was slow-going, between Ford’s stumbling and Stan not having any idea where they were going. By the time they got there, Ford was only mumbling to himself about going to bed and sleeping until they invented cryogenic sleep chambers, and then sleeping some more in one of those. Stan managed to fish a dorm key out of Ford’s pocket and get them both into the building and Ford’s dorm.

As soon as they were in the dorm, Ford stumbled the three feet required and fell onto his bed, still mumbling into his pillow. Stan shook his head, hunting through the cupboards until he found some painkillers and a glass of water. By the time he came back, Ford was blinking up at him with big sad eyes. As Stan gently lifted his brother into a sitting position, Ford said quietly,

“Stanley?”

“Ford?”

“I really missed you.”

It would have hurt less if Ford had just punched Stan in the face. Stan swallowed and pushed past whatever stupid feelings that were appearing from those words, “I missed you too buddy. Now take these,” he put two painkillers in Ford’s hand, “and drink this,” he put the glass of water in Ford’s other hand, “and then you can sleep.”

“But then I can’t talk to you. And I want to talk to you. You have to tell me all about treasure hunting and things. And I have to tell you about college and Fiddleford and how cute Fiddleford is—”

“Yeah yeah, you’ve got a big old crush on your roommate, I’m very surprised,” Stan said sarcastically. Ford was still giving him sad pouty eyes, so Stan sighed, “Fine, we can talk about it tomorrow. Take those pills, drink your water, and get some sleep.”

“Promise you’ll be here tomorrow?”

“Yeah sure, swear on whatever nerd posters you’ve got up over there.”

Ford nodded and did as Stanley said, laying down after all the water was gone. He closed his eyes and was snoring in seconds. Stan moved his brother until he was sleeping on his side and grabbed a trashcan from beside the desk, putting it just beside his brother’s head. Stan stood up, sighing. That was all he could really do. And if he left now, there was at least a sixty percent chance that Ford wouldn’t remember this tomorrow. Stan could skip town tonight, be two states over by morning. The last time he’d been in Ford’s life, he’d just ruined it. The last thing he wanted (or Ford wanted, when he was sober), was for Stan to come back and inevitably ruin everything again.

Just as Stanley was turning to go, the door opened and a man who could only be Fiddleford walked into the room. He looked at Ford, passed out in bed, then at Stan, hand going toward the door handle and a nervous look on his face. Fiddleford put his hands on his hips,

“Now, Stanley Pines, I know you weren’t ‘bout to leave before you and Ford could have a proper conversation ‘bout the circumstances of your last meeting.”

“Hey, mind your own business, nosy. He was practically falling down drunk, I just dragged his ass back here so he wouldn’t end up passed out in someone’s lawn. It’s not like we’re talking again or anything,” Stan groused. Fiddleford shook his head,

“I do ‘ppreciate you bringin’ Ford back here—Lord knows that man can’t handle his alcohol—but if you two have figured out your issues in a single drunken conversation, I’ll eat my banjo. Sit your ass down on that couch—hell, sleep on it for all I care—and you two are going to sort yourselves out in the morning. If I have to listen to one more weepy conversation about how much Ford misses you, especially after you had the chance to patch things up and threw it away, I may have to do that man bodily harm.”

Stan glared at Fiddleford.

Fiddleford glared back.

Stan gave in first. “Fine, I’ll stay so we can talk about me being kicked out and Ford overreacting to a mistake, or whatever it is you think we need to talk about.”

“Now that’s more like it,” Fiddleford said, tossing Stan an extra blanket off Ford’s bed. “You just sleep on the couch there and you two will figure everything out in the morning. After Stanford’s done losing his entire stomach into that there garbage can.”

As Stan laid down on the couch that definitely smelled like it lived in a college dorm and had done for the last three generations of owners, he was fairly certain that Ford was going to kill him in the morning. He looked over at Ford, fast asleep and probably dreaming over differential equations or something. _Eh. Fratricide still beats the shit out of dying of dehydration in a car trunk,_ Stan thought as he fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I want you to know, it took me at least a solid hour to figure out how to end this not angsty. There's at least three different version of this that ended with angst. We were SO CLOSE to having it be something where Stan leaves a note for Ford to come see him at the Blockbuster, Ford knocks the note into the trash can on accident and proceeds to vomit all over it, then wakes up in the morning and remember literally nothing of the previous evening. We were literally only saved by Fiddleford H. McGucket the Voice of Reason and No Melodrama. So like, I know this ending isn't exactly SUPER happy, but like...I was so close to making it so much worse.
> 
> Also, the song lyrics are from the song 'Blinded by the Light'.


End file.
